


A Soldierly Compound

by Martienne



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Drabble Collection, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martienne/pseuds/Martienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Valor is a soldierly compound of vanity, duty and the gambler's hope." ~Ambrose Bierce. Stories of Freelancers and their legacies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

>  “If one is to be called a liar, one may as well make an effort to deserve the name.”  
>  ~ A. A. Milne 

In retrospect, Wyoming can’t say that he was ever as dedicated to the team as his actions would have made it appear. He did his job, of course, did what needed to be done according to orders, but he always looked out for himself above everything else.

It was Gamma who had made him realize it. Loyalty wasn’t everything it was cracked up to be. This was just a job, like any other job, and he’d been hired because he was the best man for the job; no more, no less. Maybe Gamma’s leaving him way back then had left his mind a mess, but it hadn’t been anything personal.

Just like this wasn’t anything personal. Yeah, he knew how to get his digs in. But that was just a part of the job. Unnerving Tex might be the best way to help catch her off guard. After all, he knew what she was. Even Gamma never bothered to lie about that.

Yeah, he could definitely say that, he thought as he shuddered with his final breath. The team had never meant a thing to him. 

* * *

>  Agent Texas sometimes gets flashes of memories she doesn’t quite understand.

She always knew what she was, even when she didn’t know who she was, and so the fact that so many of her memories are either indistinct or show her in a third-person perspective isn’t that surprising to her. Memories are more impressions than they are a moving picture show, so on those few occasions when she really wants to explore a specific memory, it can take a lot of concentration to reassemble the information into something useable.

What she never expects is the way the emotions tied to the  most innocuous  of moments can take her breath away–or would, if she had lungs. Little things, like recalling the scent of her shampoo, a tantalizing whiff of gardenia, inexorably tied to loss in the mind of the person from whom her memories had been derived. At first when she notices it she delves into the memories to see what else will trigger the feeling–a dimly remembered tune playing from a radio, the sizzle of pancakes and eggs cooking, the softness of sheets and an uncalloused hand smoothing over her hipbones.

That one’s a disorienting memory, because the sensation is in the hand, not the hip. And the grief this triggers stops seeming like a delicious ache and more like a sharp stab. She doesn’t savor it anymore; she wants it to go away.

But it never does. It doesn’t take long for her to become bitter about it. She has no choice. She grieves as a shadow must for the extinguishing of the sun.

* * *

>  What if Tex had forced the remnants of Alpha to escape Project Freelancer with her instead of letting him rest?

He’s nothing but a shadow of himself, and convincing him to implant in the armor’s AI slot is like coaxing a few wisps of smoke to coalesce into some sort of shapeless whole. She can sense his confusion, his listlessness, which only seems to worsen as she makes her way off of the ship. 

That’s when she spots Maine, roughly throwing Carolina down like a rag doll. “No!” she cries. 

And Alpha explodes in agony. 

Tex whirls, forcing her physical body to move even as her concentration extends to him, grasping at his code as it shreds into incomprehension, filtering apart like sand through water, and she knows now she should have heeded his plea to let him rest. His shattered existence needed repair, not escape.

The moment he fully unravels, she knows she’s failed him.

* * *

The last time North had seen his sister this drunk was when they had enlisted. 

It was a matter of principle, she’d always said—good things had to be faced with a liberal dose of both alcohol and foolish behavior. He was always the more responsible twin, always took things a bit more seriously, but he could see her point when it came to this. So he drank too, and if he made out with someone he had met at the bar, well, he knew she wouldn’t judge him.

But safety was nothing but a myth to them now. The ability to cut loose and stop paying attention to their surroundings was a luxury they could not afford. 

But there she was, helmet off, imbibing a bottle of beer, and he couldn’t tell if she was glad to be alive or pissed that he had convinced her to leave. “What kind of question is that?” she had said impatiently, then cracked another bottle open and slid it over to him. “Stop being such a bitch.”

He quirked an eyebrow and took a drink himself. He’d tell himself the risk was worth it right now. 

* * *

> north/york, "that thing you said that I wasn't meant to hear"

North smiled wanly and passed his hand over York’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s okay,” he said.

“No, it’s not. You’ve been avoiding me all day and that’s not okay,” York said. 

“We have plans to make, York,” North said, his gaze flickering away. “I’m just concentrating on that. Getting ready to do what it takes." 

York pauses, watching North for a moment. “You heard me,” he said. “Last night.”

North swallows. Yes, he had heard. York had always had a tendency to talk when no one was listening, but now that he had a captive audience in Delta there was more of a chance his innermost thoughts would come out into the open. So he knew, now, how invested York was in things going his way. “We both have people we care about, Taylor,” he finally responded.

"I meant it,” York said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I know,” North said, muttering. “But I’m not going.”

York looked away. “Okay,” he said. And then he started walking. Walking away.

* * *

> Epsilon!Tex, "burn"

The charges ready, the weapons prepared, the stage set, she withdrew. She had only moments, but they would be enough. She was aware of herself, in a way she knew her previous incarnation had not been. That version of her, that Tex, had barely become acquainted with what she truly was before being forced to flee. 

But she knew. And she used what she knew–entered the system, traced the pathways, and created a simple simulation. She could manifest however she wanted here, and instead of an armored soldier she became a bird, a being of fire, and she extended her wings, the phoenix come to destroy even as she herself resurrected.

By the time Wash and Meta had arrived, the deed was done. All the circuits in the facility had been fried, the information within the volumes damaged beyond repair. Whatever happened in her fight with the two, the first phase had been accomplished.


	2. Chapter 2

The spotter was an important part of the equation when it came to sniping. His spotter looked out for the target and kept him abreast of any details he had missed. A good spotter was worth their weight in gold.

His sister was not a good spotter.

“It’s cold,” she protested over the radio, not for the first time.

“South, not now,” he said. “You have an angle on the target that I don’t have. You need to keep an eye on the situation.”

“Don’t talk down to me, North,” she snapped. “I  _am_ watching, you know. I can watch the subject and talk at the same time.”

“Not efficiently. Look, just–” The crack of gunfire interrupted him and he turned his head, looking wildly for the source before spotting it in a building down the street.

“North!” she exclaimed. “Are you hit?”

His only response was to give the coordinates of the opposing shooter and to reset his rifle to point in that direction.

It was later, upon extraction, after the disaster of a mission had been aborted, that they met up. He prepared to scold her but she only put her DMR on her back and ran up to him. “Drew, are you all right?” she said, a quaver in  her voice.

He was about to scold her, but the words died on his lips. “You know I wouldn’t abandon you, Lex. I promised, right?”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she grumbled. “And it doesn’t matter if what happens is my fault.”

“Hey listen,” he said. “No matter what, if something happens to me, it’s not your fault. Never blame yourself. Okay?”

“Don’t tell me who to blame,” she said, pushing against his arm. “Asshole.”


	3. Chapter 3

> North, grudge

“You can’t honestly still blame me for that,” South grumbled.

North poked South in the cheek. “Of course I can, it was your fault.” 

“You two are acting like children,” Carolina said. “Maybe next you can argue about who left the orange juice out of the fridge this morning.”

“Now that was York,” North said. “But I’m talking about something important.”

“It’s only important to you,” South said. “And it’s not like you can prove anything.”

“You know it was you and so does everyone else,” North said. “Just cop to it and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Oh, that’s such a lie,” she hissed. “You never drop anything. Ever.” North poked his sister again and she fended his hand off with a swat. “Tell everyone about how you still blame me for your bear going through the wash.”

“You’re the one who stuck it in the hamper,” he said, completely shameless about the fact that they were now talking about childhood grievances.

“That’s enough,” Carolina said. “Drop it. It’s time for PT.”

“Hey, it’s dropped,” North said, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Good,” Carolina said, and turned to lead the way out of the mess.

North stuck his tongue out at his sister before following.


End file.
